“It’s important, Lyra.”
I had thought about it, slightly. So much of the easiest magic for me was related to mending and restoring what once was. It reminded me of Thom’s, who found healing the body to be the easiest magic.
But then there were the premonitions, a type of magic I’d never seen anyone have before, and one I was afraid to voice now. Having a gut feeling seemed common enough, but surely the vividness of my instincts had some supernatural element?
And then there was the feeling that motivated so much of my magic lately, the fury that dug itself deep, the competitive streak that only seemed to come out around a certain prince. The desire to return to before he met me, before this splinter of a silly attraction bit so deeply into my time with him.
How could he affect me so? And was that natural?
I was too ashamed, too embarrassed, to even bring it up. Even so, I could feel my cheeks flaming as Thom observed me closely.
“You know something,” he said, and I suddenly wished the prince talked more than he thought.
“Can you have more than one thread of magic?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s probable. I believe I have more than one. It’s still a new field, remember. I don’t have all the answers.”
“What are your threads of magic?”
He shifted. “Well, um.” He fiddled with his glasses, only making them more crooked. “I believe I see the world in pieces. Parts.”
I tilted my head.
“Like when you construct a table or a chair from scratch, I suppose. You must fit the pieces together exactly. Have good attention to detail. Want everything to fit.”
“So?”
“Sothis is why I excel at healing magic. I can put the body back together, turn chaos into order. I can visualize a diagram of the body, of how it’s supposed to be, and move it back into place. When I do minor magic—water, earth, air—it all relates back to that thread in some way.”
“Huh.” My gaze flicked to Caleb, who stood steadfast, his back to the hedge, his eyes straight forward. I looked back at Thom. “You said you had other threads?”
His cheeks pinkened again. “Well, I might. I’m not really sure yet.” He pushed his glasses up. “But I’m getting to understand another one this summer.”
“Oh?”
He refused to meet my eyes. “I am learning that finding somewhere to belong, of fitting together with another soul, can be just as detail-oriented and magical. The chaos of loneliness submits to the order of belonging. I think the desire to do so… it can be more powerful than expected, a conduit with unlimited magic if you find the right person.” He scratched his jaw. “That desire has worked as a magnifier to a few of my spells lately. It’s quite impressive.”
My pulse quickened. I looked out at the pond, the water’s surface smooth and bathed in moonlight. My fingers fidgeted with the ribbon tied around my wrist. Thom’s eyes dropped to the movement.
“Have you succeeded in ripping the parchment yet?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“You should try again,” he said. “I think it might help you find some answers.”
His comment was cryptic, but I let it slide tonight. He’d given me enough to think about for one day.
As we continued the lesson, only two things were clear, both of which filled me with unease.
I liked how I felt here with him, and I didn’t quite want the night to end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I stared at the parchment before me.
Rip,I told it.
My fingers wandered over the section that Thomas had mended, his crooked spellwork on display. The corner of my mouth lifted.
